She isn't dead. But almost. I watch and wait. Two faint hairs just below her swollen lip move as she still breathes. She has to give up soon.
She has not been able to speak since it happened. She thrashed and threw and banged. I listened to that for three days. When she quieted I waited another day and then unlocked the door. There was quite a mess but I didn't make her clean it up. She should have thanked me for that. I won't hold it against her since she can't talk anymore.
She was quite the talker. She talked when she had nothing to say. She talked when she should have said nothing. I used to watch words slide out of her mouth, chase around the yard and then take off down the road. Because of her everyone knew about me. And that wasn't right.
If she could have held her tongue, she would still have it.
Originally Published on Open Salon, October 2010